


Their Strange Chemistry

by sonofabitch_awesome



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Although I did try to have a basic plot here too, Basically PWP, Bottom Dean, Dean Doesn't Get Pie, Destiel - Freeform, Episode: s08e08 Hunteri Heroici, M/M, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 18:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabitch_awesome/pseuds/sonofabitch_awesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something has to give here. They’ve been approaching this thing from both sides too closely for <i>five and a half years</i> now. Six and a half, Dean corrects himself. And he can’t let go of this man. He can’t handle another period of time where Cas is dead from ancient shapeshifting monsters, or lost in his own mind to amnesia or straight up insanity, or running away from him every single day “to keep him safe” (fuck Dean’s safety, it’s not like danger is anything new for him), or kept a literal world away. Or teetering on the verge of a major breakdown now, apparently.</p>
<p>So, in the end, he has no eloquent argument for why he <i>should</i> give in or not.</p>
<p>In the end, everything boils down to <i>Fuck it</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Their Strange Chemistry

**Author's Note:**

> For 8x08 “Hunteri Heroici”. Shower sex. For the purposes of this story, Sam is delayed when he goes to look at more files with the detective. And Cas goes with them at the end of the case instead of staying behind. Also, I’ve never written Cas’s POV before, but I needed to, briefly. I’m okay-ish with writing Dean’s POV by now, but still haven’t really explored Cas-POV yet till now.

**Their Strange Chemistry**  
  
Dean shuts the laptop with a quick flipping motion and walks over to sit on the edge of the bed that Cas is on, not noticing at first they’re sitting closer than they usually do, and then not caring when it does occur to him. Cas stares into space uncomfortably, and Dean claps his hands together once, restlessly. “Talk to me,” he finally pleads. He reaches for Cas’s hand, a simple small presence to let his friend know that he’s here, willing to listen.  
  
Cas seems to struggle for words. “Dean, I…” He shakes his head and trails off and then starts again, setting John’s journal on the side table between the beds. He adjusts his position to face Dean easier, gesturing vaguely. “When I was… bad, and I had all those things, the—the Leviathans writhing inside me… I caused a lot of suffering on Earth, but I _devastated_ Heaven. I… vaporized thousands of my own kind, and I j—I d—I _can’t_ go back.”  
  
“Cause if you do, the angels will kill you,” Dean translates. Bastards. He’ll take anyone down himself who threate—  
  
Cas doesn’t let him finish. “Because if I see what Heaven’s become—what I…” He sighs. “What _I_ made of it… I’m afraid I might kill _myself_ ,” he finishes.  
  
Dean’s heart about stops. The air seems thicker, harder to bring into his lungs. He realizes a pressure around his hand and glances down to see Cas holding tighter. As if Dean appears as terrified outside as he feels inwardly right now, and it’s Cas’s way of reassuring him _don’t worry, I’m still here._  
  
For now, anyway.  
  
Cas’s looking at their hands now, too, so Dean drops his gaze back down. Despite the oppressiveness of their conversation, the heaviness of Cas’s words soaking into his shoulders and weighing him down, the sight of their intertwined fingers is doing something to him. He feels almost like he could…  
  
Except, no. Cas is his best friend. He can’t.  
  
And this is absolutely, utterly, 100% not the time.  
  
They’re still sitting closer than they probably should be, Dean thinks belatedly. He chances a look to Cas’s face, and sure enough, he’s watching Dean carefully. Something must show in Dean’s expression, because Cas starts to pull his hand away.  
  
 _No_. Dean involuntarily grips harder, the only clear thought _I’m not letting you go this time,_ tightening his hand. He can’t even imagine how embarrassing the anxious need on his face must be.  
  
Cas relents, staying put. His blue eyes drag the waters in Dean’s green.  
  
Something has to give here. They’ve been approaching this thing from both sides too closely for _five and a half years_ now. Six and a half, Dean corrects himself mentally, if that year with Lisa counts where Cas had stayed off Earth.  
  
And he can’t let go of this man. He can’t handle another period of time where Cas is dead from ancient shapeshifting monsters, or lost in his own mind to amnesia or straight up insanity, or running away from him every single day “to keep him safe” (fuck Dean’s safety, it’s not like danger is anything new for him), or kept a literal world away. Or teetering on the verge of a major breakdown now, apparently.  
  
So, in the end, he has no eloquent argument keeping him _from_ giving in, no long persuasive discussions for why he _should_ give in, no debates within his own brain as to one side or the other.  
  
In the end, everything boils down to _Fuck it_.  
  
Dean lets himself lean forward, his breath hitching as Cas reads his gaze and starts in to meet him halfway. The locked hands separate now, tracing along each other’s forearms and elbows. He slides his other palm along Cas’s jaw, each cell in his hand alive with the sensation of stubble sliding past his skin.  
  
They shift position awkwardly, so they’re more face to face and not side by side. Dean’s right leg is crooked on the top of the covers, his left hanging over the edge of the bed. Cas ends up more or less reclined, and he lets go of Dean’s arm to steady his body weight.  
  
Dean goes with it, leaning farther in to force Cas backward so that he half-sits, half-leans against the headboard. “Wait, I—…” Cas says against Dean’s lips.  
  
They part briefly, barely enough time for Cas to adjust. And then both of Cas’s legs are flat on the bed and he’s reaching for Dean, and Dean’s returning, straddling Cas’s hips with his knees and coming back home to his lips. Impatiently, he shoves the lapels of Cas’s trench coat down his shoulders to his elbows. Cas lets go of Dean’s arms to free himself and shed the ever-present tan coat. The suit jacket follows quickly.  
  
Dean keeps his fingers in Cas’s hair and moans as Cas licks into his mouth hungrily, and holy _shit_ , now he gets what Meg said that time about feeling clean afterward, because how the _hell_ did Cas learn this so well? Jesus fuck, what, _one_ porno did this (which he watched _while talking to people in the same room_ , so it could only have been half watched)? Is this really Mr. Innocent, Mr. “I Don’t Understand That Reference”, Mr. Deer In Headlights In A Brothel?  
  
He laughs against Cas’s tongue, then, remembering that look as Cas begins unknotting his tie. How much he’d wanted to have been the one to help Cas, despite all the denials to himself. That look alone lit something in Dean – a need to protect, warring with the whole profound bond thing and their strange chemistry.  
  
Cas pauses, pulling slightly away, hands stopping. “What’s so funny?” he breathes, and damn if he doesn’t seem scared, although nowhere near what he had been that night. Dean wonders if he’s worried he’s being laughed at, or if he’s worried Dean’s going to reject him.  
  
Dean reaches for the nape of Cas’s neck. “You, dumbass,” he says. “Learned a lot, huh?”  
  
A slight flush colors Cas’s cheeks more than they already are. “Shut up,” he mumbles, and tugs onto Dean’s tie to bring him back. Cas presses both lips to Dean’s upper one, teasing a little before opening Dean’s mouth once more.  
  
Both ties and Cas’s suit coat have been discarded, and Dean is undoing the buttons on Cas’s shirt when distant alarms start rising in the back of his mind.  
  
 _Sam’ll be back soon_ , he thinks.  
  
 _This is entirely too fast_ , he thinks.  
  
 _The case_ , he thinks. _Fuck._  
  
 _Gonna end up scarring my brother for life_ , he thinks.  
  
 _I can’t do this to Cas_ , he thinks. _Not this soon, not now._  
  
And then Cas’s hands – oh, _fuck_ , his hands, how is Dean supposed to remember how to think when Cas is— “Okay,” he says forcibly, tipping his head back and breaking the hold Cas’s teeth currently have on his lower lip. “Gotta—Okay.”  
  
Cas looks at him with that wounded-puppy gaze he’s somehow picked up from Sam, that “did I do something wrong?” expression, and Dean nearly breaks. “What’s wrong?” he asks.  
  
There is no way he can have this conversation while their hips are _that_ fucking close together. Dean shifts uncomfortably, pants too tight now, and manages to push himself up enough to get his feet on the floor. He stands, stumbling back. “I ca—We’re—Sam’s gonna be back any time,” he says eventually.  
  
Cas nods once. “Right. Of course. This is the wrong time.”  
  
“And besides, I don’t—We can’t….” He exhales roughly, running a hand over the back of his head and neck, looking anywhere but the bed where Cas is still lounged on, basically waiting. And it’s taking each ounce of strength Dean has not to dive right back in.  
  
“We can’t what, Dean?” Cas asks. He’s—Dammit, the head tilt and narrowing eyes.  
  
“I’m gonna go shower,” Dean declares, motioning distractedly over his shoulder to the bathroom. “Cause… I don’t know, man, we just got you back, I don’t wanna…” As his words become more honest, they also slip together and lose their volume. “…you’re too vu… This is j…”  
  
Cas watches him. “Too soon?”  
  
Dean nods, too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, I—yeah. Sorry.” He swallows and turns away. “Yeah. So… just… Gonna… All right, then.” Too discomfited to keep talking, he falls into silence and gets his things ready for a nice, cold shower.

  


-

  


Castiel hasn’t bothered to adjust his clothing. He sits on the edge of the bed, half the buttons on his shirt open, the trench coat and suit jacket still scattered over the pillows he’d been leaning back against. Absently, he gathers them up, folding them both neatly without really paying attention to what he’s doing.  
  
The hotel room is a decent size, but it feels smaller to him right now. Barely twenty-some feet away, Dean is alone, in the shower, away from him. Castiel clenches his fists, trying to calm himself down.  
  
Dean’s forgotten cell phone light up. Castiel’s attention is diverted by the text message, the tiny words much more reassuring than they probably were intended to be.  
  
 _Guys- Got another lead. I’ll be a little later than I thought. -Sam_  
  
He licks his lips, sense memory lighting up with the feel of Dean’s mouth on his.  
  
Castiel _wants_. He’s _been_ wanting, for years. But by the time he realized the magnitude of what he felt, and – could it really be this way? – that Dean might have felt the same, too much was happening. Everything was rocketing wildly out of control.  
  
The deal with Crowley, and having to keep things from Sam and Dean. Having to flat _lie_ to them both and Bobby. His vast mistake in absorbing the souls, leading to his releasing the Leviathan. Resurrection without a memory, and then everything crashing back into his mind immediately before taking on Sam’s insanity in a desperate bid at redemption. Purgatory, running away from Dean all day, every single day. Running _for_ Dean’s sake.  
  
But now.  
  
Now.  
  
For one brief, rare moment, it’s as if the world is lining up to let him have this.  
  
Dean.  
  
He can’t let it go. Tomorrow, he knows, something else will happen. There will be another issue with demons and loyalties – or maybe _angels_ and loyalties – and they will be ripped apart another time. But for now, why not… Surely, they can… Even if _once_ , only this one time…  
  
Castiel has made his decision.  
  
He stands, not noticing the softness of the fabric under his feet as he walks over the ties still scattered on the floor, and heads straight for the bathroom. 

  


-

  


Dean had started off with regular warm water, despite his best of intentions. Nearly uncontrollably, he’d reached for his still-hard dick and gotten in a few good strokes – before, that is, the guilt slammed into him like a steamroller, and he ripped his hand away.  
  
Cold water.  
  
If there was a way to make the shower spit out ice, he would take that too. Fucking _bathe_ in ice.  
  
 _You’re going to hell all over again_ , Dean thinks hatefully to himself, spinning the knob all the way to the farthest cold setting. _Stop it. Jackass._  
  
He props his weight on his hands against the wall of the shower and shivers violently, goosebumps racing along his arms and shoulders and thighs. Maybe he’d made it too cold, come to think of it.  
  
The bathroom door squeaks on its hinges. “Out in a minute,” Dean yells out. He thinks he hears something soft hit the ground, but it’s quiet enough under the roar of the shower that he really can’t be sure.  
  
“We need to talk,” Cas calls back, voice just as intense through the noise of the splashing water and as vivid through the curtain as if he were doing his “what personal space?” thing standing right next to Dean. _And fuck_ , stop, _don’t give yourself_ that _image._  
  
Dean grits his teeth and then pulls the curtain to the side to stick his head out. “Cas, you can’t be—” And that’s all he gets out, because Cas, innocent angel and longtime best friend Cas, is half naked, clad only in white boxers and the dress shirt. His pants and socks are in a small pile by the door, and he’s almost finished undoing the last shirt button, his hands actually _shaking_.  
  
Ignored, water spills out from around Dean to slosh on the floor in front of the shower. Dean’s eyes widen, staring blatantly at Cas. “What are you d…?”  
  
“Sam is going to be late getting back,” Cas says, dropping his shirt and stepping right up to the shower. Dean’s breathing momentarily stops as he locks his gaze with Cas’s, and then distantly he hears the sound of the boxers hitting the wet floor. Cas tugs the curtain open and steps inside. “So that’s one of your objections invalid.”  
  
Dean steps back nearly against his will, the iciness of the water somehow pointless now as his blood is firing back up and circulating extra heat throughout his body. The shower water slips over his hair and forehead, trickling along his cheeks and into his eyes. He blinks rapidly. The last thread of resistance is breaking. “Cas—”  
  
Cas gives Dean that intense look where he seems to be about a single offense or one second away from flat-out smiting him. “Dean, would you _please_ just _shut up_?”  
  
Broken. Irreparable. Unsalvageable.  
  
Dean nods helplessly. It’s out of his control now. One last thing; he turns back to the shower knob, twisting it to a warmer temperature, and then he lunges forward to crush his mouth to Cas’s.  
  
The cold water really hadn’t completely wilted him, and what little progress it made in doing so is undone within seconds now that Cas is in his arms, both of them bare and out of breath and wanting this so much. He can feel Cas’s dick against his thigh, restless and impatient.  
  
“It’s been a whi…” Dean starts to say, but he’s having trouble speaking right now. “Um, a while. We-We’re gonna—gonna need some lube— I don’t have any—” He used to keep a thing of it in one of his bags, in case, but his sex life lately has dwindled damn near to zero. He hasn’t slept with a woman in years, much less any guys, so he’s not sure if there’s anything at all left in the bottle— or if it’s even still good.  
  
“Could we use that?” Cas asks, looking at the small assortment of hotel toiletries in the corner of the shower. Specifically, the lotion.  
  
Dean shakes his head. “You’re really not supposed to,” he mumbles. “Lube’s better. Fuck, I don’t wanna have to wai—”  
  
Quite suddenly, Cas is holding a small bottle from nowhere. “Will this do?”  
  
Dean has no idea where the lube came from, but he doesn’t care. He tries to say yes, but he forgets how to speak as he yanks Cas to him again, his hand on the back of Cas’s neck. Their lips slide together, parting and welcoming each other’s tongue inside. Dean’s heart pounds wildly as Cas’s unoccupied hand drifts down along Dean’s back, resting for a moment on his ass.  
  
The bottle cap ticks open, and then Cas’s hand is gone. He searches Dean’s face, endearingly unsure and intimidated. “How do… I mean, what should…”  
  
“Fingers first,” Dean tells him. “Here, hang on—” He braces one foot on the side of the tub, stretching the shower curtain down a little with the movement, and leans against the slippery wall of the shower. “Just, uh, one at first, then—”  
  
Cas sets the open bottle on a ledge and puts a slickened set of fingers back to Dean’s ass, kissing his lips busily while he prods forward, entirely too gentle for Dean’s tastes. And Dean is so beyond tired of waiting, so he impatiently reaches down, shifts his left leg, and jerks Cas’s hand in against his body, shoving at the base of his finger until—Finally. It’s in, partway anyway. He shuts his eyes, resting his forehead on Cas’s shoulder. “Move,” he blurts hoarsely, and feels Cas’s chest shake with a quiet chuckle. “Go.”  
  
Thankfully, Cas does. He slips his finger farther within Dean’s body, circling around, exploring. Dean’s breathing hard again. After a minute or two, he tries to find Cas’s hand once more, to urge in another one, but he can’t quite coordinate his hand to find Cas’s. Luckily, Cas figures out what he’s trying to do, and _yes_ , thank _fuck_ , there’s two of them working in tandem now, opening him up awkwardly but determinedly. Dean’s mouth works against Cas’s shoulder and neck, lips pressing into soaked skin. After a moment of consideration—and the sensation of a third finger working relentlessly—Dean lets his teeth sink lightly into Cas’s shoulder, emitting a soft cry as he does.  
  
“Nnnn… Is this…” Cas’s having trouble with the breathing thing too. “Are you all r—”  
  
“Fine, Cas,” Dean grunts. “Let’s do this already.” He lifts his head, taken aback momentarily by the sight of Cas with soaking wet shower-hair falling forward toward his blue eyes. Eyes that are lit up with desire and need and a small bit of insecurity. “Angle might be a bit off, but you’re fine,” he says, and kisses Cas.  
  
Cas’s hand falls away from Dean’s ass, and he hears the graphic _sqrtt_ of more lube being squeezed out of the bottle. Dean can feel the repetitive motion of Cas’s arm brushing past his while he works to slick his cock, and then the movement of Cas putting the lube back onto the ledge.  
  
Two hands, one still slippery, move down Dean’s upper legs while he practically whines in anticipation. The roar of the shower is almost as loud as the roar of blood in his ears. And then Cas’s gripping the back of his thighs and pushing, lifting, and Jesus, his back is pressed flat into the wall and he’s actually _off the ground_ here as Cas moves in closer, using his weight to brace against Dean and keep him up. How the _hell_ does Cas know all this?  
  
Everything spirals down to this one moment. This is all he needs, all he wants. This is _everything_. Dean attacks Cas’s mouth furiously and has no room for feeling like a girl or self-consciousness as he wraps his legs tightly around Cas’s waist, his own dick pressed up between their stomachs.  
  
Cas’s cock, however, is nowhere near the right spot yet, and Dean’s so impatient he’s a little bit angry. “In,” he growls into Cas’s tongue and teeth. “Now. _Now._ ”  
  
Cas’s lips curve into an amused grin against Dean’s mouth, and his fingers press harder into the back of his thighs and hips while he moves Dean into place. And then, _Jesus fuck finally thank God yes_ , his dick is pushing forward, slowly entering, almost shyly.  
  
“ _More_ , dammit, _move_ ,” Dean demands irritably, trying to thrust himself down and being painfully unable to do anything from where he’s propped up on Cas’s ridiculously strong hands. (Seriously, he’s wondering – is Cas using angel power here? He’s _had_ shower sex before, and this should be a lot more difficult than it is.) He has no leverage to shove back on. He can’t put his feet against the tub ledge either, because he can’t bear to unwrap his legs or separate their skin for any length of time, even for something beneficial like a slightly better angle.  
  
“Bossy,” Cas rasps as he moves further in. Water drips into his blown eyes. “Are you like this with everyone?”  
  
Dean clutches Cas’s back urgently, digging his nails in, knowing he’s probably hurting him but that Cas doesn’t care. “Only those I want this much,” and shit, did he just say that? How is he this _needy?_ Who the hell is he?  
  
And _finally_ , Cas is completely inside him, and they both stay motionless for a moment, simply taking in the sensations. Dean rests his forehead on Cas’s shoulder, running the tips of his fingers along Cas’s back absently and feeling the water dribble down past his hands and fingers. “God,” he mutters. “Okay.”  
  
“Move, right?” Cas laughs. The sound is startling but welcome, like when he orders pie somewhere and _nothing happens to it_ and they’re actually not out.  
  
Dean smirks and kisses him. “Obviously,” he says, syllables dragged around lips and tongues working frantically. He accentuates the word by grasping at Cas’s ass, yanking him in as close as he can manage.  
  
They fuck fast and desperate, Cas knocking Dean’s head back on the wall more than once accidentally (Cas always looking at him in worry, but Dean not caring once) and Dean scratching lines into Cas’s back that are already rising, probably pink and irritated. Once Cas gets going, he _really_ gets going. He’s kind of frightening in the way that there’s no stopping him – all Dean can do is hang on (literally) for the ride.  
  
This is so different from the last time he had sex. The last time he’d slept with anyone was Lydia, damn near _two_ years ago. (Holy shit, was it really that long?) But it was once, quick, a one-night stand he never expected to have anything to do with afterward. Certainly not someone he was this wrapped around.  
  
 _Literally_ , Dean thinks, laughing into Cas’s lips.  
  
“What’s funny _this_ time?” Cas murmurs, kissing a line down Dean’s jawline to his neck.  
  
“Me,” Dean smirks. Cas pumps his hips harder, and Dean loses his train of thought for a while, slipping his hands up Cas’s back and tracing the scratches he’s made.  
  
He can’t remember the last time he was with a man. But he knows it was sometime before the apocalypse Sam prevented. And lately… he’s been too preoccupied with post-Purgatory Stress Disorder, and everything _before_ , everything to do with losing Bobby, the goddamn Leviathans, losing _Cas_ … Dean shudders involuntarily, unable to touch that memory – even with the reminder that it’s over currently fucking him hard against a slippery motel shower wall, hands impossibly steady and strong as they keep him in the air.  
  
“Are you okay?” Cas asks, lifting his face from Dean’s neck and searching his eyes while water spills down over them continually. They’re somehow more connected visually in this moment than they are bodily.  
  
“Fine,” Dean grunts, running his palms along Cas’s jawline to tug him back in, pressing their lips together relentlessly. He kisses Cas like it’s their last time instead of their first night. And knowing their lives, it very well could be, but Dean refuses to dwell on this thought instead of the patterns Cas is tracing into his mouth.  
  
Cas pulls back a tiny amount and bites Dean’s lower lip, sliding his tongue along the skin now trapped between his teeth. Dean nearly loses it.  
  
None of the other people he’s been with… None of the women, none of the men… Nobody has ever affected him like _this_. Like Cas does. This is something altogether separate. The thought appears before he can squash it for being too girly: This feels like _home_.  
  
“Talk to me,” Cas says huskily, voice low now against Dean’s neck. He bites him lightly, sucking at the skin there; Dean gasps and thanks his lucky stars that Cas is a fast learner. “What’s going on?”  
  
“This…” Dean slides his hands up into Cas’s hair. “This is different from what I’ve don—who I’ve been with,” he breathes. “ _You’re_ different.”  
  
“In a good way, I hope,” Cas quietly laughs into his skin. His facial hair drags faintly along Dean’s neck as he smiles before pulling back to look into Dean’s eyes.  
  
“The best.” Dean blinks as the shower water hits him right in the eye, and turns his face up out of range of the faucet above. Cas rolls his hips a little harder, and every remaining thought flies out of Dean’s mind as he grips the skin on Cas’s back too tightly, uncontrollably.  
  
“Fuck,” he breathes, a shudder twisting the word into a form that has about twenty Cs and Ks. He tilts his face back down to Cas’s. “Do that again.”  
  
Cas is too eager to oblige, snapping his hips forward faster, hitting every nerve ending it feels like Dean has. He buries his lips in Cas’s neck, helpless, pushing bruises into the small of Cas’s back. “G—” The rest of the word falls away into an unintelligible series of groans and whines. The rest of the _world_ falls away.  
  
He’s actually biting into the skin on Cas’s neck now, and the water’s definitely cooler, but it doesn’t matter to Dean because this is still _really_ happening and it’s—He’s—Cas—  
  
Dean barely manages to lift his face in time for Cas to kiss him desperately, almost violent in his need. Dean locks his hands to the back of Cas’s head, nearly-black wet hair sliding through his fingers.  
  
And then his head slams against the shower wall yet _again_ and he feels teeth bite down on his lower lip but none of it registers because he’s lost, gone, coming so hard his vision kind of grays out along the edges. He can feel Cas follow right after, going off inside of him before he drops his forehead to Dean’s shoulder to catch his breath brokenly.  
  
It’s a wonder Dean doesn’t hit the ground now – how the fuck is Cas continuing to calmly hold him up while recovering from something like that? Hell, judging from the shaky gasps Cas is doing, he’s surprised the man can even still stand up himself.  
  
It’s a good thing they’re already in the shower; the torrent of water sluices between their bodies and washes their stomachs from the mess Dean made.  
  
Dean’s knees are more or less shaking by the time Cas gently releases him and his feet touch the floor of the shower at last. For an alarming moment, his legs don’t feel like they’ll support his weight. “Oh, fuck,” he mutters, reaching to hang onto something. Finds Cas’s forearms and holds tight for a bit. “Fuck. I’m getting too old for this.”  
  
Cas smiles slowly, the shower water slanting down diagonally between them, rivulets continuing to run down and off his face. “It’s a shame,” he rasps. “We could have been doing this the whole time.”  
  
“Y—” An amused snort cuts the rest of the _yeah_ away. “We _should_ have, Cas,” Dean says, feeling more stable now. Enough to stand on his own.  
  
The water is unmistakably cold; they’ve pushed their luck with the hot water too far. Dean drags the back of his hand across his mouth, feeling dirtier than he did before he got in the shower to begin with. He can feel a slight throbbing on the left side of his lower lip, and when he looks at his hand after, there’s a streak of blood. “Damn, Cas,” he says and can’t help but smile in amazement.  
  
Cas looks a little embarrassed, glancing down at the water still sprinkling the floor of the shower. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. He lifts his head and leans in closer, kissing Dean much softer this time. When they separate, the mild ache is gone.  
  
Dean raises a hand to his mouth, already knowing. “You can seriously heal me that way, huh?” he laughs. He sighs, starting to shiver in the cooler atmosphere. “We should probably…”  
  
“Yes, we should,” Cas says, retrieving the too-small hotel room soap and unwrapping it. He’s got his unconcerned expression on, that face indicating mild curiosity and slight annoyance about human things, but Dean detects a trace of anticipation at the same time.  
  
Dean has a feeling it might take them a while before they’re _really_ ready to leave this shower. Cold water or no.

  


-

  


After the case is over, they’re all still in a good mood, so they go to a nearby diner to grab a bite before leaving the area. Sam sits across from Castiel and Dean in a booth near a window, and Castiel does his best to pretend things are exactly the same. He isn’t sure if Dean wants to let Sam know that things are different now between them, but he won’t out Dean, just in case.  
  
As much as Dean tries, he can’t talk Sam into “a _real_ order”, so Sam has a salad as he usually does, but with a beer too. Dean stays true to himself and gets fries, a cheeseburger, and a slice of pie, which the waitress drops on her way over, and of course there aren’t any other pieces left. Castiel offers to bring some into existence, but Dean doesn’t want him to waste any more of his power when they can buy one on the way out of town.  
  
Castiel, as always, doesn’t need anything. Well, no _food_ , at any rate. He does, however, feel a need to simply be around the two, especially after what recently happened between himself and Dean. He hopes it will happen again.  
  
And then he realizes.  
  
 _“Hopes.”_  
  
For the first time in… he can’t remember, he’s starting to feel some tiny particle of the emotion.  
  
The brothers eat while discussing the case and how Fred is doing, contemplating checking on him after a while. Dean suggests sending Garth, “because the kid’s been doing a good job lately, he’s up to it if anything happens again.” This is extremely high praise for Dean.  
  
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Sam says, staring absently out the window and watching various cars go by. “I’ll text him later.”  
  
While his brother’s attention is diverted, Dean reaches under the table and squeezes Castiel’s hand once, gazing over with that un-self-conscious, sincere affection in his eyes that makes Castiel’s pulse speed up. He smiles back at Dean.  
  
“And hey,” Sam adds, turning back from the window. Dean quickly looks away and takes a drink of soda. “Lemme know the next time you two are gonna go at it in a communal shower, so I can get a separate room. Cause _I_ need to use it before we leave. So thanks a lot for that.”  
  
Dean chokes and coughs violently mid-sip while Castiel’s eyes fall to the tabletop, essentially memorizing the arrangement of dishes and used napkins and silverware.  
  
“I’m—we’re sorry, Sam,” Castiel says calmly, but he can’t quite look up from the table and there’s a sudden warmth filling his cheeks and neck.  
  
Dean keeps coughing. “What the f— How did you ev—”  
  
When Castiel looks up, Sam is giving his brother his best _bitch please_ expression. “I’m not stupid. Your hair was wet earlier. You took _two_ showers today? You aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”  
  
“Wh—” Eventually, Dean stops coughing for a few seconds at a time. “Goddamnit.” Castiel can’t help it anymore and claps Dean on the back hard enough that Dean gets the rest of the soda up. “Thanks,” Dean mutters, his face as red as Castiel thinks his own probably still is.  
  
“Don’t be embarrassed about it,” Sam says, and takes a sip of his beer. “Just, maybe next time, two rooms, please?”  
  
“Yeah, fine,” Dean mumbles, glancing away. “We’ll do that.”  
  
And that sounds exactly right to Castiel.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing more explicit stuff. And in addition to being a newbie, I’m also getting over some boring-backstory-here / childhood abuse, so it’s taken me years to be okay with even _reading_ sex stuff – much less writing it! I hope I did well enough. :P Thanks for your patience!


End file.
